


waves

by VerdantMoth



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Happy Ending, Kissing, M/M, Magical Realism, Modern Era, Rebirth, Reincarnation, Skinny Dipping, Supernatural Elements, Swimming, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 02:26:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17092304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth
Summary: It’s different, below the water. He loves this illogical lake. From the surface, it’s a murky mirror - silver tarnish and disturbed only by rustling winds. Below is a whole new world. He looks up and he can see the grey sky, and beyond it, the stars fluttering about. They’re trying to orient themselves, trying to find their constellations. They won’t. Not until Merlin comes back up.Written forMerthur Daily's 1o Years.Day 4: location, lake avalon





	waves

**Author's Note:**

> Y’all all owe 50 a thanks that this ends happily.

The cottage, thatched roofed and two stories tall, sits at the edge of the lake undisturbed by both nature and human progress. Most people don’t know it’s there, and the few who do tend to forget about it until they’re strolling past. No one has ever questioned the strange abode’s existence. 

No one has ever questioned the odd young man always sitting on the roof. Nor have they ever been curious about the surprising clarity of the still water. It’s always amused the man on the roof what people will ignore if guided to look the other way.

Today it doesn’t matter. Today he sits on his roof and he smokes sweet smelling herbs that float about his curls in a bronze hued haze. Today the rest of the world is sleepy and sated. 

_ It’s time _ , he thinks. The moon isn’t out yet but he knows it’ll be full. The stars have shaken their patterns off, have rearranged themselves in the sky. This morning, despite the frost clinging to the bark, Merlin had seen small birds flitting about in the branches of trees.

He stands, bones creaking like an old rocker right after autumn, and strips his shirt. The air is cool, his skin pebbles, but he steps out of his pants anyway. At the edge of the lake there’s a patch of short green grass and few budding cowslips.

_ It’s enough _ , he decides. He stretches his arms high, sucks in a breath that feels like ice, and jumps.

The world vanishes as his body arches through the air. Nothingness surrounds him, invades him, screams at him. And then he breaks the surface, the splash a cannonball scream in his ears. The water parts beneath his hands, brittle and slushy and blue.

It’s different, below the water. He  _ loves _ this illogical lake. From the surface, it’s a murky mirror - silver tarnish and disturbed only by rustling winds. Below is a whole new world. He looks up and he can see the grey sky, and beyond it, the stars fluttering about. They’re trying to orient themselves, trying to find their constellations. They won’t. Not until Merlin comes back up.

It’s soft here, like he’s being held down by cotton sheets. And it’s quiet. Even his heart is slow and lazy. Nothing moves, not anymore. Once there were fish and fae. So many incandescent and iridescent colors that used to flick past him in rabid dashes. They faded though, as most things do.

As all things but Merlin do. He’s waiting. Waiting for the water to fade. For the stars and the sky and the grass to drift on to wherever they go when he’s under. It’s slow this time. Slower than ever.

So much so, that Merlin begins to worry that he got it  _ wrong _ this time. He misjudged the air. The stars weren’t aligned. The herbs not dried. It doesn’t matter what went wrong, only that it has. He can feel the panic building in him. Intense, throbbing, just below his clavicle.

He’s about to open his mouth, about to let the water rush in, when something brushes his skin. He jerks, turns about in the water but there’s  nothing. Something calloused hits the small of his back, and he flips.

Arthur’s smile is blinding. Merlin lets his eyes flutter shut for a moment, lets lips cover his own, and then greedily sucks in ambrosius flavored air. He opens his eyes and Arthur is staring at him still.

Merlin holds up a hand and Arthur fits his palm against it. Seconds or years, Merlin never knows how long these moments last. But too soon the haze that crowned him earlier begins to fade. The cold settles into his bones, making them rickety, and his empty lungs burn.

He doesn’t want it to end, this moment. But already the edges are wavering, already the noise is racketing. He opens his mouth,  _ no, not yet! _ Bubbles build around them, obscuring Merlin’s vision and shoving him up.

Air hits his head, ice forms in the curls at the base of his neck, and the tears in his eyes make the whole world swim. He begins to scream, to shriek his rage into the first hours of night. He tries to summon a storm but it is beyond him in the face of his grief.

_ Too soon and not enough time. I didn’t even get to hold him!! _

Something whispers in his ear then, a gentle shushing, a soft warmth that ripples over him. Merlin listens. His entire being stills. Behind him, he can hear the water rippling, waves breaking against something. He’s afraid to turn. 

Flesh, warm and real and solid wraps around his waist. “It’s cold, Merlin. We should head in. Is the tea ready?”

_ No, but it will be soon. _


End file.
